


Star-crossed

by sundaeflower



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Buffy has issues, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 07:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18936637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundaeflower/pseuds/sundaeflower
Summary: Sometimes she lets him love her, but she always feels disgusted with herself when she does.





	Star-crossed

Sometimes she lets him love her, but she always feels disgusted with herself when she does.

He worships her body like she is the holy grail or the fountain of youth (or for vampires probably the gem of Amara), something he can‘t take a hold of, yet he aims straightly at her heart to reach it. She shuts her eyes and pretends it‘s not him, not this demon who makes love to her so tenderly, not this damned _vampire_ who showers her with little kisses all over her body. She sits naked in his lap and grips his hair in a painful grasp (mostly to get a grip of herself) which makes him moan, and she doesn‘t have the heart to shut him up.

It feels _good_. She almost feels loved.

Not what she deserves, though, but better than left with nothing to distract her. Better than to have to look him into the eyes, filled up to the brim with adoration and devotion, glassy with unsaid words. She takes advantage of that, too, _of course_ , but she finds herself feeling guilty afterwards.

And she _doesn‘t_ like that, either.

When she backhands him across the face he never flinches (sometimes even pretends to) or bats an eye, and she admires that. The power rushing through her whenever she exerts domination over him always succeeds in making her spread her legs wide open, letting him _in_ , and then finally making her come when he bites with his blunt teeth in the nape of her neck. Though, sometimes she can‘t tell what satisfies her most–the power flowing through her or the strenght he shows in the face of her wrath.

She didn‘t slap him often. Most of the times it happened outside of the bedroom when he was trying to declare his love for her, put it into words.

She doesn‘t want the words.

He takes, takes, takes and never complains. Takes what he can get as long as she is willing to offer. She can‘t help herself but to respect that, a tiny spark of a feeling, so fleeting she nearly doesn‘t sense it was there at all. They share a mutual understanding about that. Something she can‘t wrap her mind about right now.

He still has that habit of curling his hands around her upper arms to keep them from lashing out while he all but forces his tongue down her throat, because occasionally her body is not as willing–her mind keeping it on a short leash. It‘s familiar with wood or metal in her hands, a crucifix around her neck and a mouthful of smart answers to throw at her opponent. Not with kisses down her spine, throat constricting in anger and arousal that he _dares_ to be gentle with her when she wants nothing more than to be punished.

She punishes him for that in return.

When they lie together in bed, doing unthinkable things to each other, she can‘t seem to get her mouth to open (not after that first, most _perverse_ night in her life with him). The words die on her tongue when she wants to speak; most times during sex she gives him the silent treatment, but her actions scream louder than words and betray her.

_Please, love me. But don‘t forgive me. I‘ll leave if you do._

Never was the sex she had so destructive, arousing and able to drive her into such a frenzy. Mostly with her former boyfriends it was pure and innocent, but still passionate. Now she finds herself being drawn to crazy actions.

The more she lets herself go, the more she wants to run away. Staying longer than necessary is not a possibility with Spike. It was like that with her ex-boyfriends, all cuddling and whispering sweet nonsense to each other, but now she wants to leave afterwards, shut it out for another day just to come back for more the next. In these moments, after they‘re done driving their bodies to sweet exhaustion, she catches herself wanting nothing more than to lie there and let the orgasm wash over her (and away the pain) and tire her to sleep.

But Spike is not her lover, not her boyfriend, not her _anything_. He can‘t be. Not after the monster she saw in him vanished for good and was replaced by this completely besotted, chipped wanna-be-vampire. He‘s supposed to be bad. Bad for her. She can‘t stand this lovesick fool he turns into as soon as she endows him with some craved attention.

She craves it, too, but not in the same way.

She cuts her hair after he calls her ’Goldilocks‘, as if she‘s some kind of angel with a halo around her head. She‘s not. There‘s so much wrong in her life (is she?) and she doesn‘t know how to cope.

She gets sick when she looks into the mirror.

Pain and pleasure are suddenly not enough to compromise her deeper feelings and the longing for somebody to hold onto when she‘s at her lowest. He‘s always ready to lend her a comforting shoulder, to dry her tears, but instead she keeps pushing him farther away. There shouldn‘t be any comfort or solace between them. Can‘t. It would destroy her in more ways than one. Right now, she can‘t deal with the fact that her relationship with Spike went out of control, that _she_ went out of control.

She can‘t comprehend what she has been thinking to do this to both of them.

All this time with Spike she kept seeking the highest highs, bliss in its most euphoric form, to recreate the experience of death. Yet it didn‘t manage to content her. She knows she‘s hard to please these times, but this is certainly not the way to cope with it.

The change of hair inspired her to finally sever the physical ties that bind her to him. She has to find another way to deal with the mess that is her life.

_I can‘t love you._

She ignores the look of hurt that flashes behind his blue eyes for her own sake. When she was with him there was always either a look of admiration or desire written over his features, never this much pain (no matter how much she slapped him), and that‘s why he makes it easier for her to let go.

He‘ll never know.

She has to learn to love herself before she can consider loving him in the way he deserves it.

 _If_ she can love him.

 


End file.
